


The Masks We Wear (And What Hides Beneath)

by MistyRay00



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: But also, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empath Reader, F/M, Florist meet Boxer, Reader is an empath, Slow Burn, Stripper meet Vigilante, Stubborn Idiots, emotional competence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyRay00/pseuds/MistyRay00
Summary: A knowing grin spreads across his mouth, and his satisfaction is so loud I want to scream the first insult that comes to mind.All I can think of though is the fact his warm eyes don’t match his severe demeanor.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Original Character(s), Diego Hargreeves/Original Female Character(s), Diego Hargreeves/Reader, Diego Hargreeves/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

Here’s the thing about servants of the greater good they never talk about: They never talk about the families. 

It seems like an ideal setup, right? I mean, a kind-hearted person to the public is surely a good person behind closed doors. 

Their wisdom in helping the public surely makes for being a wise spouse and good parent. 

It depends on why they’re helping. 

Motivation is everything.

Because the Greater Good is a demanding master.

Because servitude in exchange for ego-boosts isn’t a cycle that ends with happily ever after.

But what do I know? 

All I know is that I’m going to enjoy the anonymity that’s be granted to me, even through circumstances less than savory. 

Anonymity is the blanket that I wrap myself in, snug and fitted. 

Afterall, extraordinary was remarkably overrated.

******

  
  


The first time I meet him, it’s pure chance we even cross paths. 

Florists and boxers tend to not run the same circles. 

I’ve already closed the shop for the evening, taking the train further downtown to a garden supply shop. There’s a specific seed for something I wanted to try growing, but it’s rather rare, and only this place seems to carry it, as I learned after making some calls around town.

Unfortunately, this place happens to be located in a rough part of town. Might have something to do with the rumors that it sells some rather  _ interesting _ plants in the back if you knew what to ask for.

Thus, why it stayed open long past when most gardening stores closed for the night, I imagine. 

And I’m usually cautious. I am. I know the drill. Purse over your shoulder, eyes up and alert. 

But my focus fumbles as my thoughts travel to the short window of time I have before my next shift starts. 

After making my purchase, I scramble my hands in my purse, looking for my train card, still in the store, having tucked myself in the aisle closest to the door until I find it.

It’s only seconds, really. 

But it was long enough for three men to walk in and start yelling at the cashier. I only catch snippets of the already fragmented conversation as I slide slowly down the nearest wall, willing myself to be invisible. You know, an actual  _ useful _ power to have. 

My eyes snap shut, and I intentionally slow my breath to be silent. 

Then a gunshot.

Then another.

I jolt each time, praying to any deity listening that the shuffling isn’t heard. Luckily, gunfire is a rather all-consuming sound.  _ Thus, the ringing in my ears. _

More explicatives, a whimper, then the door near the cash register opens. 

I think about making a break for the door, but my only line of sight would be gained by completely exposing myself. And one of the men logically would have stayed behind to watch the door. So I stay put.

Every second takes minutes to pass. 

I know dialing 911 would be far too loud, but I still want the reassurance my phone is near anyway, so I slowly creep my hand into my purse, feeling my way over to it. But I must clasp it too tightly or hit something, because the moment I do, a sound rings out into the room, echoing across the stained tile, resounding back into my chest where an ice cold slivers up my spine. 

Heavy footsteps approach me at a quick pace, and I cram myself into the smallest ball I can, willing my breaths to quiet down to no success. 

But just as the footsteps are ready to round the corner, there’s a gasp, then a thump to the ground. 

Another set of footsteps echo across the floor, running away from me. But I’m still not giving up my location for anything, so I stay.

Gunfire erupts from what I assume was the back room, shouts following. 

Fear infiltrates the atmosphere so strongly the mental block I instantly put up when the commotion started can’t keep it away.

The sound of bodies hitting the ground. The smell of gunpowder. 

I close my eyes again, starting to count. 

I’m at one hundred and thirty eight when someone else approaches, but the steps are far too relaxed for the occasion.

“You hurt?” I feel him before I see him. 

_ Elation _ . No.  _ Relief? _ It’s close but it’s not the exact thing radiating from him. Either way, there’s not an ounce of fear on him, despite the adrenaline that must be giving him the nearly vibrating undertone.

When I open my eyes to look up at him, there’s a gloved hand extended down toward me. There’s a strange plea in the gesture, and I humor it to make up for how long it’s taken me to answer.

“No,” I say as I slip my hand into his. “I’m fine.”

The overhead light must have broken at some point, because I can only see half his face, thanks to the lighting behind one of the temperature-controlled cabinets. It casts a strange hue, but it's enough to see a scar above his ear. He’s wearing a mask, but his eyes aren’t covered. 

The second I let go of his hand, he pivots away, “My not-so-timely friends in blue will be here soon. But you’re safe now.”

I’m not sure if the instant bristle shows on my face, and it shocks me that he stays long enough to look at my expression, searching it for something. 

I’m not sure if he finds it or not because just as I start to read him, he runs out the back just as the red and blue lights streak through the windows.

  
  


*****

  
  


After all the questioning at the station, I miss my shift. It might have been shorter, but it takes time to beg to be left anonymous from any public reports. It pays off, only barely.

But I have to take an extra day to make up for it. And I usually get away without having to work Fridays most of the time, but of course it’s just my luck to pick a plant shop the night it gets robbed, so this Friday, I’m on.

See, Fridays had certain regulars I more than definitely wanted to avoid. 

It was my fault, really. I make a habit of being quiet enough to not make too powerful of friends nor enemies. I didn’t use my power intentionally or obviously often for that very reason. 

_ Heavy is the head that wears the crown _ , and those in close proximity rarely do much better. 

I spent the better part of the past years staying to the shadows, building a quiet life for myself, away from the spotlight.

But they must have been watching me. They had to have known where to look, because there’s no other damn good reason why anyone should have picked up on the moment.

I had been brazen, I got too comfortable, too cocky that no one was really looking at me. 

Metaphorically, that is. Because in that moment, the insufferable man’s eyes were boring into my barely-concealed tits. Insufferable because he was the type that was keeping it cool, playing hard to get, hoping to get more than just the lapdance he paid for if he continues looking uninterested. Making me crawl for my dollar. 

He didn’t know it wasn’t about the money for me. I had rent to pay and shampoo to buy, sure. But I had a day job for that. Three nights a week, this was about taking back what was stolen from me. This was about blemishing the sparkling image forced upon me from childhood to the point of paralysing confinement. The girl who spun around poles half naked in neon lights: she was gritty, but she was mine. 

This man didn’t know I crawled for no one. These men paid me for my journey back to equilibrium, and I wasn’t going to bow to anyone.

So I used my power. I reached past his intoxicatedly open mental barriers and heard the barely concealed insecurity that sent him to spend his money on strippers. 

He felt like a failure. In what, I didn’t have clarity. I got impressions of feelings, not specific thoughts. But it made him feel powerless in a way that sent him to me, wanting me to beg for what he has, give him the mantle of power. 

I knew this game, and I refused to play it again. 

So the next time I ran a hand through his hair, I grabbed my fingers stiffly into the bit at the crown, pulling just enough to ensure I had his full attention. 

The instant fire behind his eyes told me I did. 

“Not sure what it is, baby. Your business, your marriage, your gym membership, but let me tell you what, I’m not clamoring for you just because something has you clamoring.” My tone was as soft as my words were sharp, and I hope it added insult to injury.

A rough shove, and I was on the floor, off his lap. Before he walked off, a glob of his spit hits the floor right next to my thigh. I couldn’t tell if he missed his mark or not, but I smiled my best, demure award-winning smile with my right middle finger up. 

And that’s when I saw it. The man on the couch right next to the one I was just thrown off of, looking right at me. He taps the man next to him, and they say something to each other, drowned out by the thumping music from the main room. I had seen them before, they were regulars for this night. I could faintly remember some of the other girls talking about how they were dead ends. 

_ “Not sure what they’re after, but no amount of ass got them to throw even a single.” _

I could have heard them if they were talking normally, the back rooms were purposefully just quiet enough to be able to say just the right dirty thing if you wanted. 

But these men didn’t want to be heard. And they were looking at me. Not at my body, not in a hungry way, but in a business-like assessing way. 

Something was off, and I knew it. So I went to the dressing room, instantly striking up conversation with one of the girls. 

When I went out an hour later, they were gone. 

It was easy enough to get someone to swap shifts with. Fridays made good money. I was sure I was being paranoid, so I stopped myself from overthinking and just went for this one night. 

James has me out on stage tonight when I start, so I figure that’s as good of a spot as any to get a look around the room.

I ignore the tremor in one of my knees just as the music starts, and I pull myself into a climb, starting the routine. One flip of the hair, a glance around the room. Pose, another look. Upside down, wait. Slide to the floor, another look up. 

It takes a valiant effort to keep a tactical glace looking sexy, but I give it my best shot. My power would be useless here, as it is in most cases, as there are far too many feelings in the room to narrow down to one. So I block all the feedback out, the way I had learned to, and concentrated on just  _ being _ . The money falling isn’t the best I’ve gotten, but it isn’t the worst either, so I guess it’s alright. 

As my little dance draws to a close, I begin to let myself breathe again, really breathe. 

But when I’m walking back off stage, that’s when I see them. But they aren’t looking at me, they’re talking with three other men, and it doesn’t take even a second of lowering my shields to hear the tension between them all. 

Just as I snap out of my daze long enough to have the common sense to get to the back room, one of them sees me staring. He points to me. The man next to him gets up, and that has to be the perfect trigger, because the other group of men pounce. One throws a punch, another reaching to his side for something.

I’ve already turned away when the first shot sounds through the air, and the screaming begins.

I run as fast as platforms will allow to James’ office, locking the door behind me. 

The club manager himself nearly falls out of his chair as he startles out of a snooze at the force of the door slamming shut. How it’s the door and not the gunfire that wakes him, I haven’t the slightest. 

“What the hell?!” I hear from behind me, but I’m not paying attention to him. I set my shaking fingers to the task of unbuckling my heels as I climb up on his desk. 

“What’re you..?”

“This open?” I ask desperately, tugging and pulling. The sole window in his desk is just reachable by standing on his desk, but I doubt it has been opened since its instalment, and I need to know if he’s sealed it off officially. 

“I ask again! What the fu…” More gunfire interrupts him, and he looks back over his shoulder to the door. 

It’s just then something clicks on the window, and it takes all my arm strength to slide the rusty thing up, but it goes. The moment it’s big enough for me to wiggle through, I do. Not even thinking about the drop the waits for me on the other side. 

Which becomes an immediate issue as I struggle to get my legs into position before I hit the concrete. The loose rocks bite into the bare bottoms of my feet and the cold settles into my exposed skin, but I take off running. 

I’ve almost made it around the block when the back alley door swings open. I spare a look over my shoulder, and I don’t even register which group of men prevailed in the fight, just the fact that whichever one it was was after me now. 

I don’t look back again, dodging into the first alley I see, feet slapping on pavement as fast as they’ll go. 

I’m reckless, not paying attention to my streets, just trying to find the street that provides the best coverage, which leads me to a dead end. 

They’re not quiet, these men, and I can hear their shouts as they approach, closer and closer. 

There’s no dumpster to hide in, no fire escape to climb up. Just slick, brick walls on three sides, closing in as my heartbeat sounds louder and louder in my ears.

I crouch, resorting to hoping the shadows conceal me when the first man is about to round the corner. 

He sees me right away, approaching without hesitation. Two others follow behind him, and I steel myself for a fight I know I have no hope of winning. 

But just as the first one reaches to grab me and I bite the hand with all the force I can give, yet another figure appears in the alley, instantly greeting another of the men with a crunch to the jaw and a follow-up kick. There’s the whistle of an object being propelled through the air and the thud of contact. His scream pierces the already cold thin air, setting a new blanket of terror around the situation as the second man falls to the ground.

The man who’s closest to me withdraws his hand angrily with a hiss, and I’m able to register the pull back is also a gear up, as he’s preparing to swing at me. I dodge, missing the blow, but a kick is quickly ready to take its place, landing on my side, knocking me off my balance. 

I put my hands up in a last attempt to ward him off, but there’s another whistle, ending with the cry as a knife pierces the man’s foot. As the fourth person knees the man in the face, I notice a familiar mask on the man. 

If I wasn’t still trying to catch my breath, I might have let out a sigh. Pathetic need of rescue once was far more than enough for me.

There’s two unconscious men at our feet, another one moaning incoherently and unable to get up, and the masked man takes me in for the first time as he pulls his knives free of the bodies. 

I can see the moment he recognizes me, because he stills, briefly pointing the handle of one of his knives at me to gesture. “Trouble just keep finding you, or you’re the one looking for it?”

For what seems to be a man who thrives on the chaotic, his voice is a deep calm.

I wipe my sweaty palms on the flimsy lace and leather number adorning me. “Definitely not looking for it.”

I step over the man at my feet. “Seems like you do, though,” I say. I’m not particularly concerned about what he’s about, but I’m ready for the conversation spotlight to be off me, hoping he takes the bait to talk about himself the way most do. 

“Just trying to stop trouble.” It’s all I get, no elaboration. As I walk out of the back of the alley toward him into better light, I watch his eyes catch on my body for a fraction of a second before they snap away. 

“What, you contract with the police or something?” 

He snorts. “No.”

Confusion settles on my brow.  _ What’s in this for him, then? _ Maybe I should be concerned about what he’s about after all. I cross my arms over my chest, half from the cold, half from that thought. 

As he walks past the last unconcious man, I feel something in him shift. He stoops, jerking down the man’s collar, letting out a low whistle. “You’ve certainly pissed off the wrong people.” 

I don’t particularly want to be closer until I’m sure of what he wants, but curiosity gets the better of me. The unmoving man has some strange tattoo across his lower neck.

As I crouch to get a better look, the masked man stands, and I involuntarily tense, sending an arm up to block the threat. 

He straightens at that, and a reluctant softening comes off him in stronger waves than any I’ve felt from him yet. He hasn’t radiated much except capacity bordering on cockiness, so his uncertainty makes a stark contrast. 

“You know, You’re pretty ready to fight for someone who’s supposedly not looking for trouble.” His words are clipped, but his tone is the faintest bit quieter. His assessing, entire-attention gaze starts to grow uncomfortable just as he finally looks away. “Even if your defense strategy is shit.” 

  
  


I have a fraction of a second to be annoyed at the dig before he continues, walking away with his back to me before stopping to look over his shoulder, tilting his head in indication for me to follow. “Walk and talk, yeah? Cops are gonna be here soon, and I doubt you’re gonna wanna chat with them.”

When I hesitate, he rolls his eyes. “Or suit yourself and wait ‘til they get here, take you down to the station and make you answer all their questions, which will get directly to the Byrne boss thanks to the cops on his payroll. And I give it…” He sticks his bottom lip out in a faux-thinking expression. “...Oh, forty eight hours ‘til you’re dead? Maybe seventy two if you’re lucky.” 

As much of a dick as he’s being about it, I know he’s right. Even if he has dubious intent, he’s my best bet at the moment. 

We fall into a brisk pace up the sidewalk, and I’m thankful for the movement. With the adrenaline dying off, the cold is starting to be less easy to ignore.

“How’d you get tangled with the Byrnes?” he asks, quieter than the tone I heard him using before. Was he hoping to not be heard? I almost laugh at the thought. Someone would see us before they heard us, and surely the sight of a man in leather pants and a mask and a chick in nothing but skimpy lingerie would be an attention-getter all of its own.

I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. Didn’t even know who they were before you figured it out.” 

He gives me a side-eye full of doubt and a bit of condescension, but he doesn’t say anything else until we get to his car.

There are few ideas worse than getting in a car with a stranger, but walking home alone or taking the train in my current state of dress were a couple of them. 

He puts his heater on blast, which I wonder why he would need it, turtleneck and leather pants and all before realizing it isn’t for him. 

“Don’t you need my address?” I ask a couple minutes down the road. Which, I wouldn’t give him the real one, just somewhere close.

“You’re not going home tonight.” 

Any distance he just earned with the heater is lost and then some. “Excuse me?”

“You think they’re gonna leave you alone? Think they can’t find out where you live?”

“They shouldn’t be able to! They haven’t moved on me before now anywhere but the club, and anyone who saw me tonight is dead now.” 

I realize my mistake the instant his concentration floats from the road to me in the first hint of a smile I’ve seen on him. If it weren’t so fucking arrogant, I might appreciate that fact it’s a nice one. “So there  _ is _ a history with them.”

I purse my mouth, looking out the window.

“Look, I’m gonna need to know what’s up if I’m gonna protect you and get these guys handl...”

I instantly sit up straight. “I don’t need your help.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You gonna fight them alone?”

“If I have to.” 

“Well, you don’t have to.” 

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me going forward, but I’m not negotiating, so if I were you, I’d stop wasting your time,” I all but spit out.

He lets out a humorless laugh, but says nothing until we pull into the parking lot of a motel and he throws it in park. His shoulders are squared to me when he does speak, and I can tell by the tension in them that I’ve gotten under his skin even before the feelings hit me. “You think I want something?” 

“You think I’m stupid? I’m not in the business of owing anyone anything, so I’m not accepting any more favors. Go on and tell me what you want for saving my ass twice and the ride, and I’ll pay up and be on my way.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want money. I’m trying to help you.”

I swallow, dropping eye contact. I can’t get a read on him with my own emotions so loud, and he’s not offering an alternative, so that can only mean one thing. It’s either this, or he’s gonna hold this over my head, making me pay in worse ways than this. 

I take a deep breath in and start to slide the strap on my shoulder down, starting to reveal what’s left hidden of my breast. 

“What the…” he puts a hand up, shielding his view of me “Woah, woah, woah, no! That’s sure as fuck not what I’m saying.”

He deliberately looks out the window, and I hear a whispered “ _ Jesus.”  _ As I slide the strap back up, relieved but still on edge on whatever it is he  _ does _ want. 

Once the sounds of me shuffling my clothing quiet, he turns back to me. “ I  _ want _ to help you, alright. I don’t want anything for it. Is that so hard to believe?” 

I don’t hesitate, looking him right in the eye. “Yes.”

He sighs, and his expression turns pensive for a second before speaking. “Alright, have it your way, then.” A gesture to the passenger door is my dismissal, and I take it, stepping out of the car, slamming the door just a smidge too hard.

As I walk to the check in counter of the motel, I don’t look back once. 

He might still come to collect on whatever it was, but that was another day’s problem. For now, I needed sleep. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It stays quiet for weeks, and I can’t help but being very smug about that fact. That I’m just fine, despite all masked dude’s warnings.

I’m still not sure what it is he’s about, but I know with resolution that I will sooner face the consequences of just about any danger before letting someone protect me  _ out of the goodness of their heart. _

When people don’t name their price, it means it’s too high to pay in one swing. It means a long term contract. I know better than that. At least now, I do.

*******

He’d been the protector of the public he served in many different avenues. In a child’s mind, you don’t learn to second guess motives right away. And I’ve long since stopped trying to criticize my younger self for her flaws in judgement. 

It wasn’t in the obvious statements. Well, maybe it was, if you dug enough.

“This is for your own good.” 

“I know what’s best for you.”

“You need my help to do that.”

Children want to be safe. _ I _ wanted to be safe. 

But it never was about safety. His negligence left a void, naming me my own defender at a young age. And it was my job to pretend it was just fine because of the residual spotlight left on me because of his podium.

The woman he was supposed to love knew that negligence intimately as well. Intimately enough she collapsed in on herself, unable to see the cage she herself was locked in. All she knew to do was console her child just as she found her consolation in having an offspring. But she couldn’t warn me of the cage she couldn’t see.

He assured us that all that waited on the other side of our bars was what we needed to be protected from; we were isolated enough from the world to not know any better. Others had it so much worse off than we did, after all. And they did. We never went hungry, and for that alone, I never considered my childhood anything except privileged. 

My father could be accused of many things, but being stupid wasn’t one of them. So he gave just enough to have us know what we missed when he took it away. 

We quickly learned how to trade submissiveness for what we thought was love and protection.

If it looked like that, I could live without either.

*****

I don’t go back to the club, but I find a new one to dance at across town after waiting a few weeks, watching for a tail in spite of myself.

Everything goes back to normal. It stays quiet. 

Until it doesn’t.

I’m at the market, inspecting a pineapple for blemishes when I damn near drop the thing due to a single tap on my shoulder.

The strange man quickly shifts to my side, pretending to inspect some mangoes as he speaks, clearly, but not loud enough to be heard by anyone but me. “I’m not threatening you myself, just passing on a message. If your guard dog doesn’t go back to his terf, it’s gonna be lights out for him.” 

His nonchalant tone despite his menacing words shoot right through me, and the barbs on the pineapple bite into my hand as I squeeze it for comfort. 

“Who?” Is all I can manage to say as the words finally compute.

He rolls his eyes, clearly convinced I’m putting on a show. His face doesn’t change, but I feel worry from him as he speaks again. “And do me a favor, huh? Be sure he knows I’m just a messenger, alright? I’m third party, not directly on the ‘bad guys’ payroll. And it’d be nice if he’d stop beating the shit out of anyone who gets within fifty feet of ya more than once.” 

He disappears as quickly as he appeared, before I’m able to ask a single question.

When I get home, I flop the half the groceries on my list I actually got heavily onto my counter, not even bothering to put the milk away before heading straight to the window near my tiny balcony.

There’s barely enough room for a chair, and since the floor is made of metal slats spaced just right so chair legs can fall through, nothing except three of my plants that need direct sunlight sit out on the balcony, but only in the summer.

Tonight, I fluff a pillow to protect my legs from the freezing metal as I heap my fuzziest blanket on top of me. And I wait.

The cold gets worse when the sun goes down, and I decide some hot tea can’t do any harm. 

I go through the routine, boiling the water until it’s probably too hot for the bag and going to leave a burnt taste in my mouth, but taste is the least of my concerns right now. 

I take my first sip, nearly spitting it out at the heat as I awkwardly pull on my slippers one-handed.

When I stand up, the first thing in my eyesight is a dark figure, and without time for a better response, I fling the mug across the room, summoning the one half-season of a sport I played in middle school to hit its target. But they move in a slick side-step, leaving the tea to splatter against the wall and the mug to shatter on the floor. 

“Not a bad throw, I’ll give ya that.” 

I’m not sure if I’m more or less on edge when I recognize the voice.

I switch on the living room light, and there he is. 

“I’m calling the police. This is breaking and entering.”

“You do that. I’ll enjoy my two hours at the station, visit with some old friends, pay my fine, and enjoy the rest of my evening. Plus, I’ve already paid them a visit today.” 

He seats himself on my couch with a flop, and I sigh, starting for my broom closet, hoping to clean up the mug mess if the police aren’t an option. 

“Interesting thing about your file, by the way. That your name didn’t exist up until about five years ago.”

I whip back around. “You went through my file?! How did you have…” 

The smug son of a bitch puts his hands behind his head, further reclining into the cushions. “The police system is hardly secure enough to keep even someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing out.”

I grit my teeth, returning to my task of finding a broom. 

The moment I get back, he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Woulda done you some good to add some history if you really wanted to leave yourself concealed.” 

I don’t even look up from the shards as I bite back, “This coming from a man whose mask doesn’t even cover half his face.” 

“You know who I am, then?”

I look back away, not wanting to verbally admit defeat. 

He stands, and I watch him warily, ready to move if needed, but he goes toward the kitchen instead of me. 

“You got a rag or something?” 

It takes me a second to respond, trying to figure out what he would need it for. His expression is deadpan when he points to the tea stain on my wall. 

I shake my head. “Uh, yeah. Under the sink. Right side.” 

So now I was fine with him rummaging through my cabinets. I really wish my cognitive function would return to normal at this point, but it’s been a strange evening. 

He squats down next to where I’m finishing sweeping the small pieces up, blotting at the mess. 

“You gonna tell me your actual name, or am I just gonna have to go find it myself?” 

I snort. “How ‘bout this. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” 

I catch him biting his lip down from smiling at the innuendo as I stand and head for the trash can. 

When I turn back, my breath catches in my throat. 

His mask is in his hand. 

_ I didn’t think he’d actually go for it. _

And of all the intolerable bullshit… he has to be handsome. It’s not as if I couldn’t tell that with the mask, but now taking his face in it’s entirely: I can’t ignore that fact.

There’s another scar across his eyebrow, and I realize a second too late I’ve been staring too long, too pointedly. 

A knowing grin spreads across his mouth, and his satisfaction is so loud I want to scream the first insult that comes to mind.

All I can think of though is the fact his warm eyes don’t match his severe demeanor. 

He tilts his chin up at me. “Diego Hargreeves.” 

“Hargreeves? Wait, isn’t that….” As it clicks into place for me, I nearly get whiplash from how quickly his cockiness is evaporated and replaced by vexation. 

“...The Umbrella thingy.” I finish. Not a question, but a statement. His body language would confirm it even to someone without my level of...knowing. 

He stands, and he’s close enough now I feel every inch he has on my height. He’s eager to leave the subject, that’s for certain.

“Your turn.” 

I answer with my first name alone, hoping it placates him, but he instantly makes a rolling motion with his hand, indicating for me to continue.

“Breslin.” 

He looks confused for a second, but the feeling coming off him certainly isn’t. “Breslin… as in Robert Breslin?”

I try not to visibly flinch at my father’s name, but I don’t imagine it’s successful. 

“So that’s why they want you. Leverage to get him to come out of hiding, do their bidding?”

I shrug. “Either that, or I’m the one they want to do their bidding.”

His eyebrows raise at that. “You have powers too, then?” 

I look away, taking the rag from him, going to ring it out in the sink. “It’s pretty much useless unless you need to manipulate someone. Which I can think of a few ways the Byrnes might use that, if they’re still feuding with the Italians?” 

Diego shakes his head. “Some other gang now, but the point still stands. How’d they figure out you have powers? Didn’t think that was public knowledge?”

“It isn’t.” I grit my teeth at the fact that so much of the rest of the story is public knowledge.

“Alright, so I’m guessing if you can be a substitute for your father to the Byrnes, you have the same powers? Which they never officially found out. Is it like… mind reading or some shit?”

“Not mind reading. Emotions.”

He nods, calm and unaffected, but there’s a sharp spike of unease in him. “Makes sense. I was about to say: you’ve asked some pretty useless questions if you could read my mind.”

My curiosity is piqued at his repulsion of having his emotions read, but I file it away for later. His allusion back to my questioning his intentions makes me even more rigid than his backhanded snark. 

“Are you always such a dick?” 

He turns back to sit on the couch with a shrug, responding over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be comforted by that? If I wanted something from you, I’d be nicer, huh?”

It’s a thought, and he might be honest, but I’ve dealt with far worse manipulation in far more seemingly pleasant packages. 

Which brings me back to what I wanted to ask him all along. 

I sit in my arm chair, across from him, feet still on the ground in case the situation turns. 

I clasp my hands together in front of me. “Why are you protecting me?” 

“Nothing personal. Just keeping the bodies from the trenches, sweetheart. And your ass happened to be one on the line.”

“You have beef with the Byrnes?”

“Not anymore than any of the other gangs.”

“You know they’re going to go after you for this, right?”

“ That’s the plan.” He cracks one of his knuckles. “Nice that they’re coming straight to me for once. Makes it easy.”

I drop my hands in exasperation. He doesn’t have any nervousness surrounding him now, so he’s either telling the truth, or he’s a very experienced liar. And I get the feeling he’s more of the hands-on approach to adversity. Not the scheming type. If he meant immediate harm, I think he would have already gotten to that at this point. 

Finally leaning back into my chair, I drape my feet over the side arm. 

He cocks his head at me, seemingly assessing something. “If your daddy was a senator and you have the same powers that got him that spot, what the fuck are you doing in a strip club?”

After the shock of his audacity dies off, I laugh, ice cold. “First, please refrain from ever again referring to him as my ‘daddy,’ and…”

He opens his mouth, and the smile tells me everything I need to know.

“Do NOT make the joke. Just don’t.” 

His smirk doesn’t go anywhere, seemingly just as content that I knew the manner of what he was about to say.

“Secondly, what’s it to you?”

“Just seems to me like you could do a lot of good with that kind of power. Or at minimum make a better life for yourself.” His eye contact is now getting too pointed, and his questions are getting too close to home. 

I look away. “The greater good and I are even. The bitch might actually owe me at this point. And I have no interest in being any more comfortable than I already am.”

He makes a quick glance around my apartment for show. It’s not big, but it’s not the shittiest either. No rodent problems, and the hot water was consistent enough. 

“Fair enough,” he mutters, standing, making his way back to the balcony, apparently about to leave.

It rises in my throat, and my pride negotiates. But I promised myself a long time ago I wasn’t going to let my childhood be an excuse for treating other people poorly. After all, many of my own scars came with the second blow of an excuse.

“I owe you an apology.” 

That turns him around pretty quickly. “Come again?”

I hesitate for a second longer, mouth opening then shutting again with the words I hoped would come. I sigh as they finally do. “I might have misjudged you. You’ve been covering me for a couple weeks now, without my knowing. Without asking for anything up until this point, and if I’m reading accurately, you’re not lying at least right now. So. I owe you an apology.”

His silence is filled with at first shock and then that same type of elation I felt on him that night at the gardening store.

And it suddenly hits me. What he gets from this. 

It’s the affirmation. For being a hero. 

And he doesn’t even know it, which is why I didn’t get the read he was lying.

I’d normally be repulsed, because ego-centered helping isn’t really helping at all, and boy, does that have a history with me. 

But something about his foundational cry isn’t a metaphorical flexing. 

It’s a yearning for validation. 

It’s not a man standing in the spotlight asking  _ “Don’t you think I’m amazing too?”  _

It’s a child crouching in the corner asking  _ “Am I good enough now?” _

I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it so concisely if I didn’t know that cry so well myself.

All at once, the man before me looks so very very different than I thought. 

My throat feels dry as I swallow down the heavy emotion.

He’s looking at me again, and I get nervous in that way where I forget other people can’t hear what I do. It doesn’t help that he’s uncomfortable too.

Finally, he gives a curt nod. “See ya around.” And he’s out the balcony and climbing down, out of my vision. 

I let out a long exhale. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to even be in this fandom, and then I wasn't even sure I'd publish this fic, but welp, here I am.


End file.
